All Dressed Up, No Place to Go
by bird by snow
Summary: The red and blue bowling shoes clashed with her dress, but she didn't care.
1. Part 1

**A/N**: Technically, this is part of the Look My Way universe, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Fluff, pure fluff.

* * *

_**Late Spring 1985**_

Andy stared in disbelief at the figure lying sprawled out on his front lawn. He'd only gone inside for a few minutes, but in that short time, John had abandoned the work that they had been doing on Andy's newly purchased car, and managed to make himself comfortable in the shade of a small maple tree. He had even tucked his arms underneath his head and closed his eyes.

Andy walked over and nudged John's leg with the toe of his sneaker. "You asleep?"

"Not anymore," John grumbled. When he opened his eyes, Andy was standing over him, holding a glass of soda in each hand. The scowling jock was a far cry from the red-haired beauty he had been dreaming about. John sighed and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Andy sat down on the grass next to John and tried not to feel guilty for waking him when he saw how tired John looked. "I guess that life after graduation isn't the party that you thought it was going to be, huh?"

John shook his head. Andy didn't know the half of it. Between his two jobs, band practice, and Claire, John had no time breathe, let alone think about partying. Strangely, he didn't mind it as much as he would have a year ago. It was a good kind of busy, if such a thing existed, and some days, he felt like constantly being occupied was the only thing keeping him out of trouble.

"Sporto," John lamented, "I think I might've become a responsible adult."

Andy offered one of the drinks he was holding to John. "Nah, I don't see it," he said, but in reality, he would've had to have been blind not to see the change that had occurred in the past year.

John took the glass from Andy. "Thanks."

Andy pressed his own glass against his forehead to cool down, and glanced over at his car. It bothered him to see it in pieces, but John had assured him that he knew what he was doing when he had taken it apart. Andy chose to believe that he wasn't lying.

"So when we're done here—"

"_If_ we're ever done here," John corrected.

"_When_ we're done here, do you want to go tux shopping with me?"

While Andy was asking his question, John had taken a large gulp of soda. He had been expecting Coke, but got a mouth full of root beer instead. It wasn't unpleasant, but it threw him off for a second while his brain struggled to catch up with his taste buds. That was why, when heard the words 'tux shopping', John couldn't for the life of him figure out what the hell Andy was talking about. He thought maybe that the recent car repairs had made him desperate.

"You've finally decided to give my idea a shot, haven't you?"

Andy frowned. "I'm not going to stand outside of Chez Quis and pretend to be a valet, I told you that last month."

"And I told _you_, it's not stealing if they give the money to you willingly."

"It's still wrong."

"It's a victimless crime. You're providing a service to the restaurant at no cost to them, and in return, you make some cash. Though, if you're hoping to make enough for a brand-new car, it might be faster just to steal one."

"Bender, can you be serious for five minutes?"

"Probably not."

Andy groaned in frustration, and John smirked. When Andy's look turned murderous, however, John backed off. "Alright, alright. You need a tux for…?"

"The prom," Andy supplied, as if it were obvious.

"Oh, _that_." John's mood soured immediately. "When is it, again?"

"Two weeks from tomorrow. Allison won't stop talking about it. Although that's probably because she's throwing the after-prom party this year," Andy conceded. "She's been really preoccupied lately." He loved his girlfriend, but he couldn't wait for the stupid prom to be over so that they could finally talk about something other than dresses and hors d'oeuvres. Andy turned to John and gave him a skeptical look. "Are you telling me that Claire hasn't mentioned it to you at _all_?"

"I know she was planning stuff in the winter, and had meetings and shit, but no, she hasn't said anything about it recently."

"Weird."

John shrugged. He'd forgotten all about the whole prom thing, but now that Andy brought it up it did seem strange that Claire had gone silent on the matter.

"It's a huge deal this year," Andy said, and then clarified, "For the girls, I mean. Everyone in school has been saying that Claire's a shoe-in for queen. Especially since she was the runner-up last year."

"I remember." John also remembered being glad when she didn't win because it meant that he didn't have to watch her dance with the pretty-boy who had been crowned king. "I don't know if I'm gonna to go this year, though."

"I've heard that before."

"Yeah, but I mean it this time," John insisted. "I left that fucking place and I don't want to go back."

Andy could understand that, though it didn't stop him from asking, "But aren't you worried that one of the football players will sweep Claire off her feet if you're not there?"

John stared down at the half-melted ice cubes floating in his soda. He used to worry all the time that Claire would come to her senses and wonder what she was doing with a loser like him, but lately he'd relaxed a little. Finally, he told Andy, "Nah, if she was going to leave me to improve her image, she would've done it a long time ago."

"That's true," Andy agreed, despite the fact that he didn't think Claire's image had actually suffered any damage at all. If anything, she had become _more_ popular. After the prom, every girl in the junior class had been swooning over the fact that Claire had inspired the resident 'criminal' to clean up his act.

John turned to Andy with a sudden thought. "You don't think that she expects a repeat of last year, do you? And if I don't show up she'll get upset?"

Andy shrugged. In his limited experience, it was next to impossible to predict what would make a girl upset. "Maybe you should let her know, just in case."

"Yeah, probably."

"'Cuz you know that way, she still has time to ask Brian to go with her."

John chuckled. "I'm not sure his mom could handle him having a date two years in a row."

xxx

Claire had successfully managed to tune out the background noise for almost an hour. But for the past fifteen minutes, she had been finding it harder and harder to focus on her book. Every time she looked up to check on John's progress, she became more interested in watching him try to beat his high score than reading about Hamlet try to decide whether or not to kill his uncle.

John swore loudly and dropped the joystick. He had failed to save his last frog in time.

"I take it you didn't beat your record," she said.

He looked over at her as if he'd just remembered that she was there. "I'm distracting you."

"I don't mind."

"You will tomorrow when you're taking your test and the only thing running through your head is the Frogger music."

"Mmm," she agreed, "That _would_ be a problem."

"Yeah, and then you'll get an 'F' and spend the rest of the week pissed at me."

Claire laughed. "I think you're under-estimating my ability to study and watch you play video games."

"Maybe." John got up and turned the TV off. "I've got to split though, so you'll have some peace and quiet anyway."

Claire closed her book and sat up on the bed. "I don't want you to go." It was borderline whining, but she couldn't help it. It felt like John had only just got there.

"Unfortunately, I don't get money for nothing," he quipped.

"At least you get your chick for free," she teased back.

John's expression turned incredulous. "Are you kidding me? There was nothing free about you, Princess."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, _please_. You say that as if I cost you thousands of dollars."

It was part of their banter, and Claire expected John to fire right back with some sarcastic retort, but he was silent for an unusually long time. She panicked. Maybe he actually_ did_ think that she cost him a lot of money? He _was_ somewhat sensitive about the subject.

Just when she thought that she was going to have to say something to break the tension, John spoke. "Nah, just that—forget it."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter." John ran his hand through his hair. "Listen, about next weekend, were you planning on—" He stopped, and then blurted out in one big rush, "Do you want me to show up again?"

Claire blinked several times before she managed to figure out what he was talking about. "At the prom?"

"Yeah."

Claire was surprised that he had remembered. She didn't think that she had mentioned it in a while. "Do _you_ want to go again this year?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I'd have to leave work early, and you know getting dressed up isn't my thing. But if you want me to…"

She tugged him down to the bed next to her, cupped his cheek, and then kissed him on the lips. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"For what?"

"For being you."

Bewildered, he asked, "Who else would I be?"

She smiled and gave him another kiss. "Never mind. And don't worry about the prom, I've got a date."

For a brief moment, he looked jealous, but he quickly recovered. "You asked Brian again."

Claire nodded. "And I think his mom has already ordered our wedding invitations."

John grinned. "Am I going to get one?"

"I don't know," she said slowly. "That might get kind of awkward—inviting my boyfriend to my wedding."

He playfully pushed her backward onto the bed, supporting himself on his arms over her. "Not nearly as awkward as inviting me to the wedding night."

She curled her fingers around the base of his neck and pulled him down to her. "Oh, you think?"

He nodded and captured her lips with his.

She moved her hands around and slid them down his torso. "Can you stay for five more minutes?"

"Sweets, what I have in mind is going to take a little longer than five minutes."

She pulled his t-shirt up. "I suppose you'd better go, then. You wouldn't want to be late."

He helped her slip his shirt off over his head. "Did I ever mention that my boss is a very understanding guy?"

"How understanding?"

"Enough."


	2. Part 2

Claire stood in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door and fastened her necklace, putting the final touch on her outfit for the evening. The modern, emerald green dress that she'd picked out was a sharp contrast to last year's more traditional-style ball gown. It had a sleeveless bodice, which hugged her right down to her hips, and a short, tiered skirt that was cut at a stylish angle. Her heeled sandals sparkled with hundreds of tiny crystals and complemented her pedicure. Her hair and her make up were perfect. She really looked like she deserved to win the title.

There was just one small problem.

She didn't want to go to the prom.

xxx

John was busy working at the bowling alley on Saturday night. He was trying to keep the image of Claire dancing with some other guy out of his mind by fixing the pin-resetting mechanism behind Lane 4, but it wasn't easy. He tightened one of the loose gears and then went out front to see if that stopped it from jamming. After wiping the grease off his hands, he banged on the wall above the pins. "Alright, turn it on!"

The pin-setter came to life, and John watched as ten pins were set down smoothly.

"How's that?" Tony, the other mechanic, shouted back from behind the wall.

"Looks good!"

John walked down the lane and headed toward the counter with the intention of informing his boss that he could start renting out Lane 4 again, but he was temporarily sidetracked from his mission when he noticed the over-dressed redhead standing near the bowling ball racks. A slow grin spread across his face when he realized who it was. He sauntered over to her.

"You lost, Princess?"

"Maybe." Claire gave him a coy smile. "How do I look?"

He gave her an appreciative once-over. "No complaints here."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a romantic."

"Yeah, I could write for Hallmark," he joked, then furrowed his brow. "Why are you here?"

"Because I didn't want to go to the prom without you."

"But you said that you didn't mind if—"

"I know. But then I realized that I would rather hang out with you pretty much anywhere than go to some meaningless dance just to get a crown."

John was impressed. "Claire Standish, have you finally figured out that there's more to life than getting dressed up and going to balls?"

"Going to balls, maybe." She grinned shyly. "But I still like getting dressed up."

"I like it better when you get undressed," he said in a low voice.

"Later," she flirted back.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a promise?"

"Do you still have the apartment to yourself?"

He nodded. "Pete won't be back until tomorrow night."

"Then it's a definite possibility." She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "What time does your shift end?"

"Nine-thirty."

"Good." She started to walk away.

"Hey, where're you going?"

She turned back to face him with her hands on her hips. "John Bender, you didn't think that I was just going to stand around and wait for you to get off work did you?"

John might not have thought that Claire would hang around in the bowling alley and watch him work all night, but he was completely unprepared for seeing her exchange her brand-new heels for a beat-up pair of bowling shoes. Chuck, John's boss, carefully handled the sparkly shoes as if they were made of glass. John didn't suppose the man had ever been traded designer footwear before.

Claire sat down in the chairs and happily laced up her red and blue striped rental shoes. The garish footwear clashed with her dress, but she didn't seem to care. John thought that it was a testament to how much Claire had changed in the year since they'd met. She was far less concerned those days with what people thought of her, which was a good thing, since it meant that she could actually enjoy herself more often.

"You've gotta hang on to a girl like that," Chuck said, as they watched her select a hot pink bowling ball from the racks.

"Yeah, I know," John acknowledged quietly.

As if on cue, Claire looked back and gave him a smile and a small wave before heading down to the lane that she had rented.

"How'd you convince her to go out with a gearhead like you, anyway?"

"I didn't," John answered truthfully. He had screwed up in more ways than one, and she had still picked him over all the jocks and rich dicks in their school.

"'Cuz I know what I pay you, and it's not enough to support _that_."

"Does that mean I can get a raise?"

Chuck laughed and thumped John on the back. "Nice try, kid. But no."

It was a slow night, so Chuck allowed him to stay out front, rather than send him back behind the lanes to help Tony. The upside of that was that he could watch Claire bowl as he worked. The downside was that it meant John had to do all the little tasks that had been put off because neither he nor Tony had wanted to do them.

First, he bolted down a loose seat in the sitting area, then he fixed a wobbly table leg by the bar, and then he started the agonizingly tedious process of scraping gum off the undersides of all the horizontal surfaces in the bowling alley. His mind wandered as he chipped away at a particularly stubborn piece of gum.

Chuck bringing up the subject of money had reminded him about his unfinished conversation with Claire the previous week. He hadn't meant to imply that she was an expensive date. He just wanted her to understand that he hadn't gotten her for free. He had fought to win her over, and it was a struggle most days for him to make their relationship work. He wasn't sure she always realized that.

It was easy for her—she still lived at home and had no responsibilities outside of serving on a few committees at school. He didn't know what was going to happen when she graduated in another month. She talked about moving in with him, and he wanted her to, but a large part of him wondered if she really understood the entirety of what that would entail. His apartment didn't come with a housekeeper, after all.

When the gum was finally liberated, he went over and sat down at the scoring desk in Claire's lane while she had her back to him. Her eyes lit up when she turned around. John lived for that moment. It made the struggle and all the other crap he put up with worth it.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He pointed his putty knife down toward the bucket of old gum at his feet. "What does it look like?"

Claire's nose wrinkled in disgust when she viewed the bucket's contents. "Well, do you have to do it _here_?"

"I already did the desks in the empty lanes and Chuck doesn't like it when we get in the customers' way."

"Oh, but he doesn't mind it if you get in _my_ way?"

"I think he actually encouraged it."

She reached across the desk for the pencil and bent down to record her score on the card. "I find that hard to believe."

"Claire?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you lean over a little bit more?"

Claire's hands flew to her chest and she tugged her dress up before it could work its way down any further. "Pig."

"Killjoy."

Claire went back to her game, but John, who wasn't in any hurry to return to work, sat at the desk for a few more minutes. They were at the far end of the bowling alley, and the two lanes on the other side were open. That gave John an idea.

He exchanged his bucket for a dust mop and ignored the raised eyebrow he got when he told Chuck that he was going to clean the empty lanes. He worked his way down the lane next to Claire's as the first ball in her frame rolled past him. It knocked over five pins. John moved into position, and then, just as Claire let her second ball go, he casually crossed over into her lane and continued cleaning.

"Move, move!" Claire shouted, waving her arms and frantically directing him back toward the other lane.

He waited until the last possible moment, and then lifted the dust mop out of the way. The ball knocked down all of her remaining pins.

As she was lining up her next shot, he took a wide stance across the lane and challenged her to aim at the pins through his legs.

She did, and when he looked back, he saw that she'd gotten a 7-10 split.

"Not bad!" he yelled.

She responded with an obscene finger gesture.

He made it up to her a couple frames later. After knocking down nine pins, Claire watched anxiously as the tenth pin teetered back and forth. John gave the pin a hard shove and put it out of its misery. She cheered when she got the strike.

John eventually had to go back to doing actual work in order to avoid pissing off his boss, but when nine-thirty rolled around, he wasted no time in clocking out. He stopped into the back to say goodnight to Tony and then went to the locker room so that he could change out of his work clothes and try to make himself look halfway presentable. He felt underdressed when he was with Claire on a _normal_ day, that evening he might as well have been naked. Still, he could at least run a hand through his hair and make sure that he wasn't covered in grease and dirt.

Claire had finished her last game and was clearing off the scoring desk by the time John joined her. She held up one of her score cards for him to see. "I bowled a 300."

"Congratulations!"

She looked down at the card. "It's funny…I could've sworn I only bowled a 115 for this game."

"Strange."

"And you'd think I would've noticed getting all these strikes."

He shrugged, pretending to be equally as baffled. "What can I say? You were probably too distracted by that handsome maintenance man to pay any attention to your game."

Claire laughed in disbelief as she picked up her purse off the chair. "If your head was any bigger, it wouldn't fit through the door."

"Which head?"

"So gross," she said under her breath.

He grinned knowingly, and slid his arm around her waist. "You're picturing it, aren't you?"

"Of course not."

He watched her tuck the card into her purse. "You're keeping that?" She had thrown the others away.

She looked embarrassed that he had caught her. "Well, yeah, I mean, I have to have proof of my perfect game. Otherwise no one will believe me."

With his handwriting all over the card, John didn't think anyone would believe her anyway. He kissed her cheek. "Let's go get your shoes, Cinderella."

He escorted Claire over to the counter and waited while she put her own shoes back on. She hadn't gone to her dance that night, and she hadn't won her crown, but John hoped that she had still had fun. Maybe then, when looking back on her decision in ten years, she wouldn't have any regrets.

"Have a good night!" Chuck called to them as they were leaving. "Use protection!"

"Oh my god," Claire uttered.

John turned back and gave Chuck a big grin and a thumb's up. Claire, on the other hand, kept her head down and face shielded with her purse until they were outside.

John looked around the parking lot for the Jag. "Where did you park?"

"I didn't. I took a taxi."

"You don't mind riding in the truck?" It was clean on the inside, but nowhere near as high-class as her car.

She shook her head. "Not unless it's going to break down on the side of the road again."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I fixed that problem."

"Oh, that's reassuring."

"If you wanted dull and predictable, Sweets, you should've gone to the prom."

"I don't want 'dull and predictable'," she countered. "I want not to have to walk to Allison's in these heels."

"Speaking of which, do you think that we have time to grab a bite before we have to be at her house?"

"Not if we're on foot."

"Let's pretend for a second that you actually have some faith in my ability to repair a motor vehicle."

"Then probably, but are you _that_ hungry that you can't wait to eat until we get there?" She sounded like an exasperated parent. "There's going to be a ton of food at her house. She was telling me all about it yesterday."

"Did she happen to mention what she would be serving?"

Claire paused for a moment to think. "No, she just said that she had fun getting everything ready and that she had made a total mess of the kitchen."

"Uh-huh, and have you seen some of the things that she eats?" Because he all too clearly remembered the Captain Crunch and Pixie Stix sandwiches, the pickles dipped in peanut butter, and that one time she had mixed ketchup into her applesauce.

"Yeah, but I'm sure she's going to have normal—"

"Fish sticks in ice cream."

Claire shuddered. "I still can't believe that I thought those chunks were crushed up macaroons."

As if anything Allison ate would make that much sense. "So…to the diner, then?"

"I guess," she agreed reluctantly, but then suddenly perked up. "I hope Betty's working. Then maybe I can get an honest opinion about my dress." She twirled around for show.

John felt his breath hitch in his throat. God, she was gorgeous.

"C'mere," he said, and stretched out his hand. He needed to feel her and make sure that she wasn't just a dream.

She took his hand and let him draw her in close. Her arms automatically wrapped around him and they swayed together under the glow of the parking lot lights as if it were their own private prom.

"Claire, you know that I…"

She lifted her head off his shoulder and looked at him with an expression that he didn't have a name for, and was too intense for him to hold. He ducked his head and waited for the ground to swallow him. But the next thing he felt was Claire gently tipping his chin back up.

"I know," she said softly. "I love you too."


End file.
